How strange, these days,
When men and trees alike
Shed their mane.

How strange are we,
Who flee from stone,
Blind to what endures.

How beautiful the spruce
That leans into winter,
Proud of another ring.

Light are the limbs of the sapling,
Yet steadfast stands
The trunk of the oak.

Misunderstood, misguided, or me.
Walking in circles
Unsure if the pain is self inflicted
Or the trouble of a victim misled

Breathing in and I feel you on my lungs
I thought I lost you years ago
But today I coughed you up

There's a spot on the back of my head
I can't reach it
I don't care about reaching my spot
Everyone is looking at my spot
I can't stop thinking about my spot
I hate my spot

Every day I wake
I lose another tooth
When I was younger
I cheered and pulled at my gums.
Now I sow my lips shut every night

My skin is flying off my body
The only thing I can feel
Is the spider man pinata
at my birthday party in 2005

Eating myself
I stretch and grow
Just to finish where I started
Children born
Elders passed
My skin remains untouched
I'm clutching handfuls of grass
I'm not moving
I stopped to look at a rock
And the world flew past me
Crashing and ending.